


you're toxic i'm slipping under

by bulletthestars



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Crimes & Criminals, Crossdressing, M/M, Minor Violence, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 08:43:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1682114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bulletthestars/pseuds/bulletthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nico is a hooker. Kimi is a hitman. They don't fall in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're toxic i'm slipping under

He lands in your balcony with a sickening thud and your first reaction is to prod him with a broom. He grunts, rolling over, and you see that he's unarmed. Bleeding all over the floor, t-shirt ripped and that's about it.

'Help me,' he chokes out, voice feeble. He looks up at you and his eyes are the clearest green that you've ever seen.

 

His name is Kimi. You don't get a last name. You don't give him yours either. You tell him to hold still as you clean his wounds and he bites hard on his lower lip, determined not to make a sound. So you press harder with your antiseptic wipes, trying to elicit a reaction, but you don't get any. Instead, he pulls his t-shirt into his mouth (completely unhygienic) and bites down.

There'll be bruises all over his skin tomorrow. You clean his wounds to the best of your abilities, bandaging what you can. Later on, he's aching on the sofa and he looks at you, confused.

You roll your eyes. There's only one logical conclusion for someone with your sort of skill set, living in this part of the city. But the decor of your flat doesn't fit. 'Med school,' you say. You could've ignored him, but for some reason, you don't. 'It's been years.'

He grunts. You should kick him out of your flat. Right now. He's not a client and he's not paying and you don't care for arseholes who land in your balcony in the middle of the night while it's raining, asking for your help.

'You should go.'

'How much?'

'What?'

'How much.'

'No one gets to spend the night. I don't trust you. I don't trust anyone.'

'Smart move,' he snorts, wincing as he feels the pain in his side. He tries to sit up to no avail.

You don't know who he is. You don't know what he is. You should really, _really_ leave him out on the doorstep.

But you don't.

 

Things you get that night: a name (Kimi) and a number (a mobile phone, presumably) scribbled on the back of a faded receipt and a pile of notes and coins that makes it seem like he had emptied his entire wallet on your table.

Things you don't get that night: why you fold the receipt and slot it into an old photo album that you keep locked in a drawer.

 

Somehow Kimi manages to find his way back to you two months after he had crash landed in your balcony like a fucking UFO.

 

Days go by. Months go by. Kimi comes back to you, as always. He fucks you into the mattress, whispers your name against your skin like it's a prayer _Nico Nico Nico_ and you let him kiss you on your forehead before he leaves.

 

Kimi doesn't talk much. He texts you to tell you he wants to see you and it's always at random, but if you're busy, you're busy, and that's that.

You tell him that you remember the most sensitive parts of the human anatomy clearly from your days at school, and he tells you that he's learnt about it here and there, on the job. You know what he does, but with you his touch is always soft, hesitant. You say it's okay to be rough, you can take it, although some part of you says that it's fucking stupid to say something like this. Kimi kills for a living. It's funny when you think about it, how he's ending lives so that his own life can go on. He's dangerous. You keep repeating it in your head as he touches you, gentle, light. But he laughs and tells you rough's not what he wants. Sometimes you fuck. Sometimes you don't. He calls for pizza and brings beer and you sit with him, eating and drinking with the radio on in some pale imitation of normality. Sometimes you end up washing blood out out of his hair, cleaning his wounds in the shower.

He always pays. Of course he does. You're not a fucking charity.

(Oh, the irony)

 

The client's hands are around your throat and your arms are flailing about, you manage to knock something over and there's a loud

_CRASH_

and you're kicking and you're kicking

trying to pry his hands away from your throat

not

working

getting

 _harderandhardertobreathe_ -

 

'You okay?' Kimi asks, later on. He's got blood on his cheek and a cut on his lower lip. You don't want to know what he did to the client, but you can guess. It won't be pretty. Well, at least you got half of what you were supposed to get for the sex. The rest of the payment is gone, but it's a small price to pay for still being alive.

'I've had better days,' you answer, rubbing at your neck. You look up at him. 'Thanks.'

He shrugs, handing you a glass of water.

The silence sounds a lot like _now we're even_.

 

You should probably cut Kimi off. He knows far too much about you and you, in turn, know far too much about him. You know how his hands tremble sometimes when he's talking, you know how he's never going to fuck completely naked because he feels vulnerable without his clothes on and you know he aches for something, there's a void somewhere in his heart that you don't fit into and don't want to fit into. And so do you, because when you live like this, you're always wanting something you can't have. Some nights you want someone to hold you as you sob, someone warm to take away the crushing pain of loneliness. Some nights you want to sit in your balcony and feel the cool wind against your cheeks and know that there's going to be someone who'd have your back if you fall. Most nights you're with a client who's only interested in your mouth or your hands or your thighs or your arse.

No one gives a shit about your heart and you don't give a shit about anyone's. That's the way it goes.

 

Kimi is an anomaly.

Kimi is a constant.

You hate how he's both.

 

You meet Jenson the way normal people meet one another. In the queue in a supermarket, when you drop your wallet most unceremoniously and he picks it up for you, handing it to you with a grin. You mumble your thanks, and you go your own way afterwards. A week later, you bump into him again when you're buying groceries. And so it goes, over and over again, from nodding politely at one another when you see each other in the aisles to chatting briefly about your day to having dinner together at a dingy restaurant near the supermarket before you part ways.

Jenson's nice. There isn't any other word to describe him, really. When you don't have enough money to pay for your share, he covers it for you, and you resolve to avoid him from then on because you don't take things for free, and you can't possibly offer your body to him for dinner, quite literally. But Jenson is, well, _Jenson_ , and somehow you find yourself drawn into his orbit, pulled down by his gravity.

You don't want to get close, but oh, you do, and soon enough there's a Jenson shaped hole in your heart and you'll never be able to fill it with anything else.

 

When Kimi tells you about this boy he's been seeing, _boy_ , blonde hair blue eyes with a smile so pure you feel like you're tainting him just by listening to Kimi talk about him. It feels like Kimi's waxing lyrical about how great he is when really, it's just two throwaway lines with a smile on Kimi's face that's warmer than the sun.

'That's a surprise,' you say later on, cheek pressed against your arm on your pillow. You're lying on your stomach, blanket barely covering your arse, and Kimi's smoking, clad in nothing but his boxers.

'Yeah,' he grunts, taking a long drag from his cigarette.

'What's his name,' you ask. You don't really care. No you don't.

'Sebastian,' he says.

There's a strange sort of coldness that washes over you, hearing him say his name. Like your jacket isn't warm enough and the cold seeping in from where it doesn't fit snug around your wrists is killing you slowly but surely.

(Once upon a time he would say your name like it was a prayer for salvation, and once upon a time you would have thought that you meant something to him. When you hear Sebastian's name leave his lips you know that his prayers have been answered, but not by you and you burn and you don't even know why.)

 

The client wants you on your back with your thighs spread, wants to feel your hands on his back and your legs around his waist when he fucks you, wants you to cry as it happens. He wants you to tell him that you love him and you want this and it's all okay so he shouldn't feel guilty and you play along like you always do, perhaps with a little more enthusiasm than usual because he's paying triple your normal rate.

What you don't expect is for the tears to be real as Kimi's face appears unbidden at the back of your eyelids as you whisper, voice broken, 'I love you so it's all okay.'

 

You like Jenson. You really do. You haven't met anyone who enjoys being with you for who you are and not for your body in forever, but then again, with what you do, what are the odds? Jenson's touch on your skin is light and careful and when you draw closer, leaning in for a kiss, distance between the both of you disappearing slowly, _slowly_ , his lips brush against yours almost as if you had never touched in the first place. He looks at you with a grin and a light in his eyes that you've never seen in anyone before and it's glorious, and you spend hours in his arms doing nothing else but kissing and that's it. You're so afraid he'll ask for more even when you're saying no, that he'll turn out to be like everyone else you've ever had but it never happens and it's frightening how being treated with proper respect feels like you're being accorded some sort of privilege now.

You like Jenson. You really do.

(It's just that he's, well, _Jenson_ , and not-)

 

'One last job,' you say, looking at Kimi, one hand cupping your chin. You're sitting at your dining table with dirty plates and two half-empty cans of beer.

'Yeah,' Kimi grunts. 'If you can't-'

'Escort you to a ball in a dress and heels,' you say quickly, cutting him off. 'I've done worse.'

'You-'

'It's fine.' You reach for him, wanting to touch his arm, but you draw your hand away before you do, thinking better of it.

Really, he shouldn't be here with you since he's got Sebastian, but then again, it isn't as if you're fucking any more.

'Nico-'

'It's fine,' you repeat.

(But it isn't and it can never be because your name no longer sounds safe on his tongue)

 

Kimi's standing by his car, waiting for you at the pick-up point at the bottom of your block of flats and when he sees you his jaw goes slack, quite literally.

You've got a black dress on that's cut low at the back and it fits you perfectly, fabric smooth over your chest and your pair of decent sized fake breasts. It's your last time with Kimi, so you pull out all the stops. Heels, pantyhose, even the elaborate choker around your neck to hide your adam's apple but really, it looks more like a collar that says you belong to Kimi and he looks at you, speechless.

'Wow,' he says finally. You've never seen him like this before. You'll never see him like this again.

'This is what you'll be missing,' you say, smiling, but there's nothing funny about it.

'Ahh,' he says, mouth dry.

You sigh. 'I'm joking,' you say, taking his arm. You let him help you into the car even though you know you can manage just fine on your own.

At least, you _think_ you can. You nearly trip over your heels, and he chuckles. You blush, embarrassed, and you don't talk for the entire journey.

 

You take the glass of champagne offered to you with a thin smile, leaning in towards Kimi. You want to hold him close to you for a while more, you've never been with him on a job before or anything but you're so fucking nervous your fingers shake and Kimi laughs, taking the glass from you. He steals a sip and you chastise him for drinking and he smirks, saying it's liquid courage. He'll need it.

The lights dim, and the couples around you take to the dance floor. The orchestra plays a waltz, and numbly, you accept Kimi's hand. You sway to the music, body stiff with fear, and Kimi tells you to relax because you're not the one with the job, he is. You glare at him and his hand slides lower to rest on the swell of your arse and on any other day it would reassure you, but tonight it just makes you feel worse.

When the song ends, Kimi pulls you to the side, saying that he'll be back soon. He turns to leave but you catch his arm, and you kiss him hard on the lips like your life depends on it. When you pull away, he looks at you, puzzled but undeniably pleased. You tell him to take care, you tell him to come back alive but you hesitate because the words 'to me' nearly tumble out of your mouth and you know if there's anyone he's coming back to, it'll be to Sebastian, not you, never you. The tears rush to your eyes but you bite the inside of your cheek hard, willing yourself not to cry.

Kimi grins, saying he'll definitely come back, voice cocksure. When he leaves, the tears start to fall, and you don't even know why.

 

Kimi comes back bleeding all over. You look at his wound and you know that all you can do is to ease his pain and not save him.

 

You take the wheel. You really shouldn't be driving, god you're such an emotional wreck but if you don't you'll never get Kimi to Sebastian and he's going to regret you're going to regret and the tears well up and this isn't how things should end god even if you're never going to get a happy ending Kimi should've had a shot at one in your stead oh god a shot the irony the fucking _irony_ -

 

'I love you,' Kimi chokes out and it's to the voicemail on Sebastian's phone and you're still too far away, you're not going to make it and he's not going to make it and you're holding Kimi in your arms and if you close your eyes, you can pretend, and pretend you will.

'Don't cry,' Kimi says afterwards, reaching to cup your cheek, and you cry even harder because this is it, this is the end and it hurts so much and you choke on your words.

'Don't go,' you say, swallowing thickly. You blink away your tears and you hold him closer, and you want to say something along the lines of _I love you too_ but he shouldn't be hearing it from you, it should be from _Sebastian_ and oh god, oh god. 'Don't leave me,' you say, and you sound pathetically weak and small but it hardly matters any more.

Kimi smiles, and his eyelids flutter close.

 

Sebastian is exactly as Kimi had described him. You hand him the box filled with Kimi's belongings after you've both scattered his ashes into the ocean, and when he looks at Kimi's bank book, he turns to you, alarmed.

'There's too much money I can't take this-'

'It's yours,' you say, avoiding his gaze.

'I can't-'

'Kimi left this for you.'

'I. Um. What do I do with so much money, I-'

'I don't know, pay off your student loans? Do something you want? Go be happy. He would've wanted you to be,' you say, and really, you mean to sound encouraging and sympathetic but the words are so fucking bitter in your mouth it ends up coming out all wrong.

Sebastian looks at you, dismayed. You shrug, and you walk away.

 

You're with Jenson and his arms are wrapped around you and he's warm, so warm that it's almost scorching and it should comfort you but instead you feel like you've been scalded by hot water.

'Are you alright?' Jenson asks, stroking your hair and you lean into his touch, but it does little to comfort you. If anything it makes you feel worse because this is Jenson and you feel guilty for taking this because while you like Jenson, he's _not_ -

'I'm fine,' you answer, voice hollow.

You're not.

 

You're alone in your balcony but where you're sitting isn't the spot where Kimi landed all those years ago because you've moved time and time again since then. You don't know what you're doing with that receipt with his number crushed in your fist, all you know is that it hurts so fucking much and there's water running down your cheeks and it's too hot to be rain. But you look up anyway, and the sky is the darkest you have ever seen.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to [detentionlevel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/detentionlevel) for all your help.


End file.
